Dragon Age: Asunder Writing Contest  Lackluster
by Mpskydog
Summary: It isn't every day a committed, but talentless and lackluster mage has a chance to do something heroic. But can he even manage to do it right?


**Lackluster**

1

Mercelles glanced at the scowling templars packed tightly around him in the ferry.

"What am I doing here again?" Mercelles asked, his question directed toward no one person.

"_We_ are getting supplies and meeting a transfer, from another Circle." It was the Knight-Captain of the group. Mercelles never liked him. "_You_ get to accompany us. Lucky you."

_Accompany_, thought Mercelles. _I'm anything but an equal_.He gazed out at the approaching lakeshore. The mage could scarcely believe he was nearly thirty years old. Almost twenty years as an apprentice. He wondered if that was a record for pathetic. He had finally passed his harrowing a week ago, and First Enchanter Irving had sent him out for supplies.

Once ashore, the templars wasted no time in ushering him to the stores for their supplies. True to form, the Knight-Captain requested a significant list of provisions. Mercelles gazed around for something to occupy his time, spotting a drink house.

The Knight-Captain didn't seem to take notice, so he settled himself at a table, resting his staff next to him, and ordered a drink. It arrived, along with a barrel-chested man in clothes too clean to be a local. He sat across from him.

"You aren't my type," muttered Mercelles.

"You're a mage?"

Mercelles stared at him. "If I am?"

"I have a proposal for you, mister..?"

The mage sighed. "Mercelles Adair."

"Truly? By the Maker, boy, to meet you of all people!" The man was beaming. Mercelles felt uncomfortable.

"Here now, what are you going on about?"

The man rose. "You probably don't remember me. Ferivus Abrams."

Mercelles blinked. The name was familiar; wasn't he an associate of his late father's? He cleared his throat.

"What is it you need?" Mercelles asked.

The man's expression grew grave. After asking for secrecy, which Mercelles hesitantly gave, he proceeded to explain.

"Impossible," said Mercelles when he'd finished.

"The freedom of one girl? Impossible?"

"It shouldn't be done." Mercelles took a draught of beer. "The children are separated for good reason."

Ferivus frowned. "They mean to _protect_ me from her?"

"We are dangerous." Mercelles didn't blink. "They also protect her from any who may wish to harm her."

"That's a father's job!" Mercelles was shaken by his outburst. He instinctively turned, expecting to see his Templar master bearing down on him. They were still haggling.

"We're kept on short leashes." He indicated the templars. "We shouldn't discuss such things. Just worry about the rest of your family."

"You expect me to _abandon_ one of my children?" The man had moved closer and rested a hand on Mercelles' shoulder. The mage wanted to look away but he was making it difficult.

"I'll lose her if I do nothing."

"She's safe there," Mercelles said quickly.

"I'm no fool, I know enough of your Circle and that damn Chantry to know a great many apprentices perish. I couldn't live with such a thing!" Ferivus collected himself. "Things are in motion, but I need your help. All you have to do is see her to the docks after dark in two days."

"Lunacy."

"Help my child!" Tears were welling in Ferivus' eyes. Hardly conscious of it, Mercelles had nodded. Ferivus seemed relieved.

"You realize the Circle of Magi teaches us control. She'll be at risk without it."

"I know someone who promises to teach her."

"You expect me to get her out alone?"

"It's the good people in the world, like your father was, that are the mortar binding this land. Opportunities for courage bring like minds together. Worry not, mortar, you'll find your pestle."

Ferivus had slinked off, the templars had fetched Mercelles and while their supplies were being loaded, they moved along to the meeting place for the transfer. No one showed. It was decided they would stay the night and try again in the morning.

Perhaps it was Ferivus, or being locked in a room and watched by templars, but Mercelles found sleeping difficult. Come morning, he was roused by his companions without breakfast, which resulted in constant whining about how hungry he was. Once at the rendezvous, they engaged in waiting very similar to yesterday's. This only made him more crotchety. So caught up was he in his petulance that he failed to notice being approached by armed men.

"Hail, sers!"

The shout returned him to his senses, hand tightening wearily on his staff. Eventually he noticed the mark of the Templar Order emblazoned on their armor, and sheepishly relaxed.

The Knight-Captain acknowledged the greeting. When asked about their delay, one of the visiting templars hemmed and hawed. He clammed up when an unarmored man in a traveling hood stepped from their group. He didn't share the stiff, irritated features of a templar, but wasn't exactly warm either.

"Apologies," he droned with preternatural calm. "Unforeseen events delayed our departure. My papers." The man passed them to the Knight-Captain.

"Germaine Pastel?" The Knight-Captain asked, scanning the papers.

"That is I," the man replied coldly. "I come from the Circle at Kirkwall to your own Kinloch Hold." Something was amiss in the way he spoke, which made Mercelles uncomfortable. Not even Senior Enchanters were that calm when addressing a templar. Then Mercelles placed it. Germaine had removed his hood, the pale sunburst-shaped brand on his forehead unmistakable. This man was a Tranquil.

Mercelles shivered.

Paperwork was passed between the two groups and stiff farewells given. A short time later, Mercelles' group was making their way back toward the Lake Calenhad ferry with the Tranquil Germaine in their midst. The boat ride was even longer and more uncomfortable than before. He was forced to sit across from the Tranquil with precious little to look at, so he turned to stare slack-jawed at the grey skies instead.

By the time they reached the Tower his neck ached.

2.

Mercelles asked around if a girl named Pricilla were present, hoping she didn't exist; but they were quick to point her out – a strawberry-haired girl of about twenty, with the most beautiful eyes. _Hardly a child_. He shook his head and tried to focus. Pricilla had arrived a week ago and probably undergone the various, exhausting examinations for apprenticeship. One of these would have been a blood sample.

Mercelles bit his lip. One tiny vial of magically preserved blood; it seemed so innocuous, but allowed the templars to hunt down rogue mages; mages like Pricilla. He'd agreed to smuggle her out of the tower, but her phylactery would also be necessary. Else they'd just track her down again. _This is lunacy_.

Mercelles selected a time later that evening and crept along the halls, his staff in hand and lighting the way. As he neared the chapel, he heard voices, and he immediately snuffed the glow of his staff.

"Are you ready to travel to the repository, sister?" asked a man.

"I am, Knight-Corporal," replied a woman, probably a Chantry priest.

"The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander should be waiting."

Mercelles watched as the pair stepped out of the chapel pressed on toward the repository.

Cautiously, he tailed them. When they reached the lower levels, Mercelles indeed saw First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir ahead, directly in front of the magically-sealed door leading to the repositories. A man in grey robes was also present. _A Tranquil_, he presumed.

Hiding at the bottom of the stairs, he watched as the Knight-Commander faced the heavy door and recited something. Irving then placed his hand upon it and he heard a _click!_ and the door was slowly opened. The pair passed through, followed by the priest, Tranquil and Knight-Corporal. Mercelles frowned for a moment. There wasn't a chance in hell he could have got in by himself. Daringly, he crept closer.

Ahead, Greagoir stopped short in his tracks. Irving regarded him.

"Forget your key?"

"No. Something is…" He glanced back at as Mercelles flattened himself against the wall. His heart climbed up and pounded in his ears.

"You are a little jumpy, perhaps," he heard Irving muse.

"And you are too at ease," Greagoir admonished. A few seconds passed without incident, and finally: _Thud!_

The magical door had closed on its own. _Fine_, he thought. _I promised to get the girl out of the tower, nothing more!_ He slipped away as quickly as he could and fumbled back up stairs.

3.

He would just find the girl and get the hell out, then. Laboriously, he checked rosters in the Student's Chambers until locating a dormitory with the name _Abrams_ listed. After calming the students within, he convinced Pricilla to speak with him in the hall.

"Ah, I know you don't know me, but –" Mercelles stammered. He was certain he wasn't making a good impression.

"You're him, right?" she asked expectantly. "The one my father sent," she continued, looking at him. Mercelles nodded dumbly.

"We need to go," he said at length. It was her turn to nod.

"I'm ready."

"You don't need anything?"

"There is nothing. I would leave even the memories, if I could." He started leading her down the hall.

"How are we getting out?" she asked.

"I've heard there are some passages in the storerooms that lead out."

"And you know where they are?"

"Nope," he replied matter-of-factly. He'd been considering making a plan. So far this was all he had.

"Wait here," Mercelles instructed. He turned the corner to scout ahead - no guard was to be found. He motioned Pricilla to follow him and descended the stairs. The door was locked. _Damn_, he thought. _I'm terrible at this_.

"You..!" He felt his hairs raise on end. Turning, he saw a templar at the top of the stairs. "What are you doing out of your chambers, mage? Speak!"

Mercelles didn't.

"Come away from there at once!" Mercelles didn't.

A flash of steel and the templar's sword appeared in his hand.

He wasn't certain what would happen – would he kill this man? – but he was instinctively drawing power for an attack. Then his eyes were drawn to movement. He watched the guard's legs buckle. He was a heap at the top of the stairs; someone in grey robes was standing behind him.

"I was right to follow you," said Germaine. "You'll get yourself in much trouble."

"Indeed..?" Mercelles stammered. "I'm sure knocking a templar across the back of the melon is perfectly acceptable, mister Pastel."

"Formalities are unnecessary. You may call me Germaine. Though I often go by 'Pestle.'" Mercelles froze.

"I'm told it's a pun. I'm an alchemist, you see." There was a slight inflection in his voice. Mercelles was certain he hadn't imagined it.

"I hope you did not intend to remove the girl without this." The Tranquil held aloft a shimmering vial, then tucked it away. He had already slipped a key ring off the guard and was offering it. Mercelles pulled himself away from the door and came closer.

"Are you coming with?" asked Mercelles.

"For my part, yes."

As the trio descended into the store room, Mercelles wondered why Ferivus had even needed him. He relit his staff. After ages of dead ends, cramped crevices that led nowhere, and a general feeling of hopelessness, Mercelles was ready to give up.

"…maybe there isn't a way," he snorted.

Pricilla shook her head. "There must be something!" Her voice hurt.

"If there was, don't you think the Circle would have sealed it?" asked Mercelles.

"Such a passage would go unnoticed were it small enough. Or disguised," said Germaine.

"Ugh, then we'll never find it!" Mercelles kicked a stone away from his feet. It clattered down the tunnel.

"We should divide our search," offered Germaine.

"Go on if you want." Mercelles meandered about as Germaine vanished ahead.

"I know you've risked much to help me," said Pricilla at length. Mercelles brushed her off. "You… could come with us. When we find the way out."

"No such luck. Germaine may have your phylactery, but not mine. With mages they don't risk keeping the lock and key so close together." He turned to investigate a dark corner; the girl squeaked behind him.

"Stand down!" Someone was bearing down on them. From the looks of it, it was the guard from earlier. Pricilla raised her staff in defense but the templar seemed to take it as a threat and leveled his sword in mid-charge.

"No!" Mercelles' hands crackled with lightning, but he couldn't make himself move. Pricilla was thrown aside like a rag doll. There was a shimmer as the templar's blade closed in, and Mercelles felt the strength being drawn out of him. He closed his eyes as the blade connected.

_I really am terrible at this._

4.

Knight-Commander Greagoir rifled through the papers on the desk. He lifted one up.

"You're grasping at straws," said First Enchanter Irving. "We've both read them all."

Greagoir's frown deepened. "Declare defeat if you wish. I shall not. Something must be missing."

There was a knock at the door. Irving started toward it but Greagoir had thrown it open before he could reach it. A wide man in Templar armor stood motionless.

"Pardon my intrusion, Knight-Commander. I am Knight-Captain Emerson, emissary of the Kirkwall chantry."

Greagoir found himself stepping back slightly as the Knight-Captain let himself in. Irving looked amused. The Knight-Commander did not.

"Your presence was not announced, Knight-Captain," said Greagoir through clenched teeth.

"We extend our apologies for the unfortunate events surrounding Tranquil Pastel," recited the Knight-Captain. "Rest assured we are carrying out an investigation, and currently considering potential candidates for his replacement." His gaze snapped to the First Enchanter. "I understand there is a Tranquil in Ostwick whose research has produced results similar to Germaine's."

"News travels well for you to be here so quickly," said Irving. "We only learned of Germaine's disappearance three mornings ago."

Emerson gave them a strange look. "I hardly call being murdered a disappearance."

Greagoir and Irving exchanged glances. This was not lost on Emerson and he sauntered closer. "Perhaps news _doesn't_ travel so well. He and his escort were dead before they left Lowtown."

Greagoir regarded the Knight-Captain. "Inform the Chantry that we appreciate their concern and give our full cooperation."

"Of course, Ser. Is there anything else you need? First Enchanter?"

Irving glanced at Greagoir, who merely shook his head.

"No," said Irving. "Please keep me informed."

Emerson saluted, though it looked insincere, and excused himself. Greagoir tossed a crumpled bit of paper into the fire the moment the door closed.

"Destroying official documents? I didn't think you had it in you," mused Irving.

Greagoir stared hard at him. "No man by the name of Germaine Pastel has ever walked these halls, First Enchanter. Kirkwall's records indicate as much, so shall ours."

The Knight-Commander bristled as he stomped back to the door. He opened it and peered out as though expecting Emerson to be eavesdropping. "Do not think for a moment that your missing apprentice has been forgotten. Our best lead may have dried up, but we _will_ find her and Mercelles' accomplice."


End file.
